Steve looked down at his desk. He moved a slide rule a few inches to the left. “He’s a neighbor.”
“Don’t try to kid me, Steve. Don’t try it.”
Steve looked at him. “So I’m crooked, too?”
“Damn it, a man can’t talk to you lately.”
“I do my job and I know I do it well, and when I stop doing it well. George, you can throw me out on my can.”
George stood up and stared at Steve for long seconds, expressionless, the pipe clenched in his teeth. Then he turned on his heel and left the office, closing the door quietly behind him. Steve lit a cigarette. That had been no way to talk to George. The right way would have been to tell the whole truth. But what good would that have done?...
“George, I killed that man when I hit him.”
“Why didn’t you report it to the police?”
“Well, by then it was too late.”
“Who said it was too late?”
“Lew. He said everything was fixed. It would just make trouble.”
“So you believed him. And all you had to do was pick up the phone.”
“All I had to do was pick up the phone. But one thing I do know. It’s too late now...”
Though theirs had always been, basically, a boss-employee relationship, it had also been something else. Now, in a space of fifteen minutes, that something else was gone. He thought of the time, a month after Ellen had died, he had gone stumbling-drunk to George’s house. He remembered the way it had been handled. How George had made arrangements to send him five hundred miles away into a laborer’s job for another company. But he had just found it possible to talk to George Ryan in that harsh, unpleasant tone, all bristles and indignation.
Steve knew that it was coming. He sensed it. He had been afraid of it. And yet, when it came, it was almost a relief.
It happened on the dark porch of Lew Prade’s house on Wednesday evening at ten o’clock, the evening of the second day after the scene with George.
Lew was alone in the house, and he asked Steve over. Steve had gone with a blind, puppylike obedience that filled him with self-disgust.
Lew was a long time getting to the point. The glowing cigar-end made long slow arcs from the stocky knee up to the mild lips and back down again. “Freshen your drink?”
“I’m fine, Lew. Thanks.”
“That Ryan, he’s got sons coming into the business, I understand. They’re in college now, aren’t they?”
“Yes. The oldest one will be out in two years.”
“Kids like that, they come fresh out of school, they’re snotty, you know. Got all the theory and no practice.” He sighed. “But they’ll have their old man behind them.”
“I suppose so.”
“A guy like you, Stevie. What’s the future? You’ll be taking orders from those kids. How will you like it?”
“It will be all right.”
“Stevie boy, don’t kid your old Uncle Lew. The world is full of guys like you. Smarter than tacks, but knocking themselves out because the right angle never come along.”
“How do you mean?”
“Take it like this. You got a couple of fine kids there to educate.”
“I’ll manage, somehow.”
“Sure. Somehow. Some state college for the boy and maybe a normal school or something for Diana. Those kids deserve the best. Hell, prep schools, and then Wellesley and Harvard. A little travel, maybe, before they have to start earning a living. And what have you got in the kitty? Couple of war bonds, maybe.”
“That guess is almost too good, Lew.”
“I checked your record. Not me personally. Ricky Vogeling did it. You know the construction business inside out.”
“It’s all I’ve ever done. If I don’t know something about it now I never will.”
“Ricky is a bright guy. Ambitious. I was talking to Ross Farlini a while ago. Big man in the state. You know him?”
“I’ve heard of him.”
“Ross was saying to me that he’d like to swing some of these big state road jobs to his friends. He knows I got a piece of Vogeling. Now, that fits right in with Ricky’s ideas, Vogeling Brothers is damn good on paving. A little weak on any job where you got to move a lot of earth. Man of your experience would help a hell of a lot. I told Ricky to check on you. and he did. He figures you’d be worth twenty thousand a year, plus bonus, on these big state jobs they’re going to get.”
The figure took Steve’s breath for a moment. He said flatly, “I’m not worth that.”
“You’ve been listening to Ryan too long, boy. He give you one of those inferiority complexes. Ricky says you’re worth that, and that’s good enough for me. How about it?”
“I couldn’t say yes or no right now. I’d have to talk to Mr. Vogeling and find out what he would want me to do.”
“Stevie, that firm is going to go places. Take my word for it. They’re kind of handicapped right now on the equipment angle, but I told Ricky that maybe you and I could work something out on that.”
Steve tightened up. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve got stuff coming in. A million bucks’ worth. Heavy stuff. Shovels and ’dozers and mixers and rollers. You deal with the suppliers, don’t you?”
“Yes, but...”
“So they’ll notify you on the deliveries. Ricky will place the same orders Jennings and Ryan have in. The stuff comes in. Okay, you let Ricky know, and they pick it up. It just means Jennings and Ryan got to wait a little longer, but, hell, they can afford it. That’s a big outfit.”
“I couldn’t possibly—”
“With that big equipment, and with Ross guaranteeing Vogeling’ll get the state jobs coming up. It’s a pitch that can’t lose.”
“It’s crooked.”
“Is it? You’re clear. Just a misunderstanding. By the time Ryan gets wise Ricky will have the stuff. To get it off him Ryan will have to sue. Ricky can tie him up in the courts from now until that equipment is so old he won’t want it anyway. Bills of lading can disappear. Common carriers can make mistakes. Just a big misunderstanding.”
“No, Lew. No.”
“I see a lot of guys like you, Stevie. They don’t know a good angle when it hits them in the face. Think of how you can take care of the kids. Ricky and I talked it over. Twenty thousand a year, plus a little sweetening when Ricky has the equipment.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s a little fund Ricky can tap. Call it a ten-thousand bonus, in cash. You can report it for tax purposes if you want. If you want to be a sucker. It won’t be traceable.”
“Damn it, I’m not a thief, Prade. I can’t do it.”
The cigar came up in a slow arc, went down again. “You kick those words around maybe a little too free. I go along somewhat. You’re not a thief. You’re a murderer. You like the fit of that?” His voice had changed. It was as dry and hard as pebbles.
“You make that sound like a threat.”
“Sometimes you got to put the horse on a guy to make him land butter-side up. I can open that thing up. Easy. In such a way it won’t hurt Doc and it won’t hurt me. But it will hurt the hell out of you and your kids. I’d hate to do that. They’re fine kids. Always smiling and laughing. You sit over in state prison, and they go live with Granny.”